


Deprivation

by Oryx_Gazella



Category: Don't Hug Me I'm Scared (Short Film)
Genre: DHMIS, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1744064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oryx_Gazella/pseuds/Oryx_Gazella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one likes their sleep patterns being disturbed</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deprivation

**Author's Note:**

> UHHHH IM NOT SURE WHAT TO SAY ABOUT THIS ONE  
> I NEEDED A FIC THAT WASNT JUST PEOPLE BEING TORTURED SO I GOT ON THIS ONE  
> NO SUPER SPECIFIC WARNINGS THIS TIME ASIDE FROM VIOLENCE BLOOD DEATH

Staying awake the first night was easy.  Tony was predictable, and he was lurking around all night, waiting for her to go to sleep.  She responded by working on a painting until the sun rose, humming softly to remind him that she was still up.  Easy. 

            In the morning she slipped a boxcutter into her pocket and bounced downstairs, not feeling any ill effects.  Tony was seated at the table, peering at her from behind the mug raised to his mouth.  She strolled into the kitchen, heading straight for the cabinet and choosing a cup of her own.

            “So how did you sleep?”  She asked him, as she poured coffee into the mug.  She could almost feel him glaring into her back; he was possessive about most things, and his coffee was no exception.

            “About as well as you did, dear.”  He tried masking his irritation, but Paige could hear it.

            “You didn’t _have_ to stay up, you know.”

            “Mm, neither did you.”

             She took the milk out of the fridge.  Physically, she refused to look at him, but she was hyper-aware of every noise.  Every movement he made produced a slight rustle of his ‘ _perfectly washed and ironed’_ clothing, and she could tell just what he was doing by sound alone.  Tony was working on some convoluted plan, and she intended to turn it on him.  She just had to wait for him to get impatient and screw up, like he always did.

            She poured in enough milk to lighten the coffee, and stirred it.  Paige turned to face Tony, holding the increasingly hot mug in both hands. 

            He inclined his head at the cup.  “Tired?”

            She gave him a short laugh. “No, but it sounds like you are.”  The mug was starting to burn her steady hands.

            “Not at all.  Just _worried about you_ , love.” 

            Paige didn’t his tone.  She mentally urged him to make a move so she could slice that look off his face. 

            Instead she raised the mug to her mouth, letting her lips press to the warm ceramic and inhaling the scent. 

            Paige lowered the mug, and reached over to the sink.  She stared straight at Tony with a smile as the coffee splashed into the sink and down the drain, steam rising up.

            “You make dreadful coffee, dear.” 

            She got to see the infuriated narrowing of his eyes this time.  But he stayed there at the table, and with a blink that look was off his face, replaced by his standard, arrogant expression. 

            Paige turned on her heel, and headed for the back yard.  Tony was no doubt watching as she left the door wide open and sauntered to the garden.

            About fifteen minutes after she had kneeled down in the dirt, she heard the door slam close.  Paige grinned to herself as she continued pruning stems and harvesting flowers. 

            Two or so hours ticked by. Paige had gone wandering in the woods, searching for poisonous mushrooms; they were difficult little things, and didn’t always like to take hold where she could easily reach them.  She had convinced a patch of deathcaps and ivory funnels to cooperate not too far from her main garden, but most fungi did what they pleased.  That was alright; it was always fun to stumble upon something beautiful and deadly.

            It was odd…he hadn’t come looking for her yet.  He hadn’t even left the house, as far as she could tell.  It wasn’t like Tony to drop a hunt once he started, and what was the whole show of stalking around outside her bedroom if not trying to catch her unaware? 

            Actually, he probably fell asleep.  How pathetic.

            She headed back into the house, arms full of poisonous blooms.  She hesitated at the door, deciding to take a moment and knock the mud off her shoes. 

            The rest of the day was divided between drawing, cooking, and setting the hands on various clocks back or forward by a minute.  Tony lurked around the house, occasionally appearing in her peripheral vision, but never approaching.  She could swear he even caught her messing with a clock once, and didn’t even confront her.  Any other time he would’ve rushed across the room, grabbing her wrist and snarling threats in her face.  But he just…left; that was no fun at all.

            _Just start something you miserable excuse for a timepiece_.

            Throughout the day, her hand occasionally drifted to the boxcutter still in her pocket.  She was desperate to use it.  She’d rather sooner than later; he was definitely _waiting_ for something, and he’d keep her up again to get it. 

            Hours passed.  Night fell.  Tony did nothing but pace.

            Paige busied herself in her room with the pottery wheel, shaping vessels and setting them out to dry.  She frowned down at the bowl of water next to the wheel, or rather, the bowl of slightly damp clumps of clay that _should’ve_ held water. 

            The light shining under her door from the hallway darkened as Tony passed by. 

            Paige exhaled harshly and stood.  If she stopped working now, the piece might dry out before she could get more water in the morning, even if she wrapped it.  Tony was _not_ going to ruin her artwork.  

            Straightening out, Paige pulled open the door and walked out of her room with the water bowl.  The hallway was empty, and silent.

            She was halfway to the bathroom when she realized she had no weapon.  

            She’d have to pretend.  Act confident and sure of herself.  Like she had no reason to be afraid, here in a narrow hallway with her reflexes slowed and lacking any sharp bits of metal to knock a sword away. 

            Speeding up almost undetectably, Paige made it down the hall and got to the sink without incident.

            Paige turned the bowl over, leaving the bits of clay caught in the drain.  Tony still didn’t reveal himself as she filled the container with water, but the momentary hissing of the faucet obscured her hearing; she bristled, paranoid.  Maybe this was a bad idea.

            She hesitated to look up.  She didn’t want to let him see the started fear on her face if he was behind her, smiling at her in the mirror.  Paige steeled herself and raised her head up; she almost sighed in relief when she found only her own face staring back at her.

            Water spilled out of the bowl when she began to move.  _She shouldn’t have filled it to the brim_.  After pouring a little back into the sink, Paige was confident she could make it back to her room without displaying any more shaky weakness.  She stepped out of the bathroom.

            Tony was at the other end of the hall.  He leaned against a closet door, arms crossed, watching her.  He wasn’t blocking her way, and he wasn’t even near her room.  She glared at him.

            “Working late again, sweetheart?  An old project, or have you started another new one?”  He didn’t sound tired at all.   Neither would she.

            “There’s still space in the kiln, I figured I might as well make few more pieces before I fired it.  Did you get that new clock working yet?”  She didn’t break her stride as she strolled back to her room, keeping her eyes on him.

            “No, it’s being rather stubborn.  I’ll have to keep at it.”  _That fucking smirk._

            She turned into her room, kicking the door closed, half-expecting it to be caught by a palm or boot before latching. 

            Paige was at the wheel for about half an hour before Tony paced by her room again.  Her eyes narrowed at the shadow, preparing herself to fight, anticipating the door being bashed down.       

            He left her alone. 

            She crept to the door and locked it, hoping he didn’t hear.

            All night, in what were surely the most _irritatingly precise_ intervals, Tony walked past her room.  Could he not hear the hum of the pottery wheel from his own room as an indicator that she wasn’t asleep?  This was irritating.  Why couldn’t he keep her up in a less distracting way?  She finished four works of varying sizes, and set them on a table to dry.

            After the sun rose, she descended the stairs to join him for coffee again.  She was armed with a needletool and a sharp carving knife today. 

            There he was, at the table, using the same fucking mug he always did.  The corner of his mouth pulled up as she entered, and she gave him a smile, hoping he caught the sarcasm behind it. 

            “Having trouble sleeping?”  He was watching her carefully.  She kept any hints of tiredness off her face. 

            “Not especially.”  She took a mug out of the cabinet; one she had made a few weeks ago. “ _You_ must be having trouble with that clock, though.  Maybe it’s a bit more than you can handle.”

            “Like I said, it’s only stubborn.”  

            “I’m starting to believe all clocks share that trait.” Paige poured her coffee, setting the pot directly on the counter, rather than back in the machine.  She added the milk, and watched the tan swirls dance around under the surface for a while. 

            “I’m sure it’ll cooperate soon.” 

            Paige lifted the mug to her mouth, sipping at the coffee this time.  Was this his secret to staying up so effortlessly?  No, he was probably just faking it like she was. 

            “I thought I made terrible coffee.” He rested his head on his hand, smug as ever.

            “You do, this is disgusting.”

            “So why are you drinking it?”

            “Because I wanted to take the last cup from you.”

            “You really should get some sleep, dear, because that’s not the last cup.”

            “ _Isn’t it_?”

            Her fingers closed around the handle of the coffee pot, lifted, and upturned it over the sink.

            Tony’s gaze flicked from the now-empty container up to her face.  She saw his jaw tense as he grit his teeth together, nose wrinkling slightly and his eyes narrowing.  A lovely sight.

            “I was meaning to make more, anyway.  That pot was sitting for a while.”  The irritation dissipated from his voice with every word.  Damn it. 

            “I guess you _will_ need more caffeine.  Wouldn’t want to fall asleep with any fragile clockwork in your hands.”  Paige lifted herself to sit on the counter, gently swinging her legs to tap her heels against the cabinets.

            “Clockwork’s not as fragile as you might think.”  He idly toyed with a pocketwatch, turning it over in one hand so the silvery metal caught the light and glinted.

            “Really?  It’s been pretty easily broken in my experience.”

            “You don’t have much experience.”

            “Maybe I need more.  There are plenty of clocks around the house for me to _practice_ on.” 

            Oh, he didn’t like _that_.  The look he gave her was a threat in itself.  Tony flicked open the pocketwatch, looking down at its face.  Paige bristled, preparing herself to dive away; he could try to throw it at her; bashing her on the temple, or wrapping the chain around her neck and pulling, or knocking out an eye...  If he succeeded with any contact, it’d be disastrous.

            He did none of that, instead examining the watch for a moment and closing it with a sharp metallic snap. 

            “Late for something?” 

            “Just making sure things are still on schedule.”

            They stared each other down for a few moments.  Truthfully, she was on edge.  She _knew_ some careless action must’ve already revealed that she was bluffing, and far more tired than she would want to admit.  Tony, however, seemed perfectly fine.  _Had_ he fallen asleep yesterday?  He only could’ve been out for two hours at the most while she was out in the woods; nowhere near enough time to make up for 48 hours of sleeplessness.  Maybe it all just an attempt to unsettle her.  But if he really was as alert as he acted, he could easily kill her.  _So why hasn’t he even tried?_

              Paige hopped down from the counter.  “I’d love to continue this _fascinating_ conversation, but I have a kiln to fire.”

            “Be careful not to break any delicate pottery, dear.”

             Was that a threat?  Was he just returning the clockwork comment?  It certainly wasn’t genuine concern.  She cast him a quick glare and turned sharply out of the kitchen. 

            Much to her irritation, Tony sat in the workshop, barely even pretending to tinker with the half-assembled watch in front of him.  He watched her cart sufficiently dry clay works downstairs and arrange them in the kiln.  Having to stay so on-guard threatened to make her knock something over, and she wanted him to just leave.  She wasn’t going to fall asleep in front of the kiln.  Still, confronting him would mean _acknowledging_ him.

            Paige turned on the machine, leaving it to fire for the next four or so hours before she had to readjust the heat.  

            Her muscles were aching when she went outside to do more weeding in the garden.  The sun hurt her eyes, and it wasn’t long before the trowel accidentally sunk through a large nightshade root.  Paige cursed and threw the tool down, bringing the heel of her hand up to rub at her blurry eyes.

            Abandoning the garden, Paige made her way back to the house.  Maybe sleep deprivation would bring some new inspiration, and if she started hallucinating, it might translate well to canvas. 

            Time dragged.  The overwhelming amount of clocks in any given room provided a constant reminder of how slowly the minutes were moving.  Every time Paige looked up, convinced half an hour had passed, she found barely five minutes had gone by.  Could Tony have slowed the clocks somehow?  Was that possible? 

            A grating buzz tore through the room, giving her a jolt; her eyes had been drifting closed.  The kiln.  It was _so loud_.

            In her exhaustion, she almost opened the door.  Before she could ruin all of the art inside, she remembered which cycle it was on and adjusted the heat settings instead.  Four more hours.

            Tony continued to stalk around, appearing in the room as if on a schedule.  He probably was, but Paige kept forgetting to check the time to see how often he peered in at her. 

            The paint colors weren’t cooperating.  She caught herself beginning to doze off more and more as night fell; thankfully Tony missed it every time.  Paige turned off the kiln, letting the pottery inside cool slowly overnight, and dragged herself upstairs. 

            Somehow, through force of will, loud music, and an alarm set to loudly go off every 15 minutes, Paige made it through the night. 

            Paige’s face was planted firmly on her desk; her neck and shoulders were miserably sore and her eyes felt like they were full of sand.  Maybe letting Tony kill her would be worth it just to get some fucking _sleep_.  At this point, staying up was more out of stubbornness than the prospect of fighting back; Tony could slowly stab her to death with a sewing needle and she’d probably just lay there and accept it at this point.  Every breath was a struggle, every muscle ached, and her eyes would flutter closed even if she was standing up. 

            Habit forced her downstairs.  What time was it?  She couldn’t tell. 

            It quickly dawned on her that the house shouldn’t be this dark.  The sun was just barely beginning to peek over the horizon, and it was far earlier than their previous meetings over coffee had been.  She kept moving forward anyway, if only so the action would keep her awake. 

            It wasn’t a surprise that Tony was absent from the kitchen.  The house was utterly silent, birds just beginning to chirp outside.  There was a brief rustling from the living room, probably one of their roommates getting ready for wor-

            No…they left…

            Paige kept as quiet as she could, half-stumbling into the living room. 

            Tony was lying on the couch, sleeping.

            _That asshole._

            Her initial emotion was anger; he had made her half-delusional from sleep deprivation, and here he was, essentially _mocking_ her.  She wanted to strangle him.

            Looking at him more, though…an idea hit her.

            Paige crept closer, not wanting to wake him up just yet.  She crawled onto the couch with him, lying her head on his outstretched arm.

            “Nghhh?” he mumbled, stirring awake and confused.  “P...aige?”

            Paige murmured sleepily back, cuddling against him and burying her face against the front of his shirt. 

            Hesitantly, his other arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her closer.  He rested the side of his cheek against her head and gave a soft, pleased hum before his breathing evened out, asleep again.

            _He fucking fell for it._

While she never really expected the best place to find sleep would be anywhere near Tony, she’d take it.  Paige consciously allowed her aching eyes close for the first time in three days, and fell asleep.

           

 

* * *

 

 

            Why the hell was she awake?

            Everything hurt more; it felt like she had only lied down minutes ago.  Was it storming?  Had some loud, sudden noise roused her?  She rolled over, leaning against the back cushion of the cou-

            _Where the fuck was Tony?_

Her eyes shot open with a sudden rush of realization.  She sat up quickly, eliciting a sudden bout of dizziness, hair obscuring her vision.  Her head whipped around, trying to see the whole room at once.

            _Clattering from the kitchen_.

            Her heart slammed in her chest.  Now, faced with the very real threat of being killed, adrenaline flooded into her blood.  She dove off the couch, mind racing.  Footsteps.

            Unable to really think it through, she crawled into a small storage cabinet against the wall, pulling the door shut. 

            Paige tried to stifle her panicked breathing, curled up in a cramped, pitch-black cabinet and completely weaponless.  The muffled footsteps were perfectly clear in the silent house, and they kept getting closer.

            He stopped quickly, almost stumbling to a halt in the doorway. 

             “ _Too early”_ She heard him hiss under his breath _“I_ knew _it was too early_.” 

            Silence.  The cabinet was the worst place she could possibly be.  She should’ve run out the front door.

            “Paige dearest.”  He cooed, anger tinting the last syllable.  “Where did you go?  Please come back to sleep.”  The floor creaked as he paced around the room.  “I’m sorry if I woke you, sweetheart; I was only getting a drink.”

            Exhaustion was battling with her rapid pulse.  Her eyes were wide open, staring at the darkness, pupils dilated uselessly.  Her shoulders ached, from her contorted position or from sleeplessness; it didn’t matter. 

            “Love?”  It sounded like he was turned back toward the dining room.    “Paaaige?”  He moved again, an almost inaudible jingling sound ringing with every step.  He was leaving the room.

            Paige opened the door, just a crack, and peeked out.

            He was looking right at the cabinet.

            She jumped, pulling the door closed.  No _no no_ she should’ve bolted out.  She couldn’t think straight. 

            Ink seeped from her trembling arms.  He took his time getting across the room.  Any second now a sword would crack through the wood and run her through.  Paige pressed herself against the back panel of the tiny box.

            “ _Why are you hiding, dear_?”  His tone provided an answer to that question.

            She heard him brace his hand against one door, and grab onto the other handle.  Paige held her breath, her mind going blank and her body freezing.

            Instinct took over in a snap when light flooded in; Paige lashed out with ink and sharp nails, raking across his face and splashing black into his eyes.

            Tony’s hand flew to his face with a pained, indignant shout, and he fell backwards when Paige shoved him aside, scrambling out of the cabinet.  Blind as he was, he clawed out for her as she staggered to her feet, getting a brief hold on her.  The slick ink coating her arms gave him no grip, and her wrist slipped easily out of his grasp as she ran for the kitchen. 

            Paige nearly fell on her face when her feet hit the tiled kitchen, catching herself but unable to keep from slamming into the countertop.  She couldn’t remember what she had come here for.  She stared down at the countertop, clutching the edge with both hands, pain radiating from her hips where they had cracked into the corner.  Her head drooped, forehead touching to the cold surface. 

            The sound of Tony knocking into a dining room chair jolted her awareness back.  Her head snapped up, bleary eyes focusing on the knife block.  Clumsily, she grabbed a chef’s knife, turning around before it was completely free and nearly pulling the entire block over. 

            Tony stood in the entrance, one hand against the doorframe, a sturdy metal chain wrapped around his other.  His face was smeared with black, mouth pulled into a slight snarl.

            His eyes moved from her face to the trembling knife, and he opened his hand, letting the chain drop to the floor with a sharp, metallic clattering. 

             “This would be so much easier if you _cooperated_.”  Now the sword was out, and he advanced with careful, even steps, keeping eye contact.  “You’re still tired, aren’t you?  Put that knife down, it’s useless in your hands anyway” 

            She didn’t respond, but she didn’t move away, either.  She just watched him approach, holding her blade in front of herself defensively.  Her eyes wouldn’t shift away from his.

            Tony’s slow, steady breaths prompted her to match them.  Her racing heart began to calm.  She _did_ feel tired…everything was so heavy…

            Tony was close enough to touch her now, if he reached out.  The sword lowered slightly, and then he _did_ reach out.  From the corner of her eye, she saw him about to close his hand around the handle of the knife.

            With a blink, she was out of it.  The metal flashed, cutting through cloth and skin, and Tony jerked away from her, hissing in pain. 

            His expression was furious as the sword raised again, and swung at her.  Paige tripped desperately out of the way, barely able to stand.  _How could he have possibly failed to hit her?_  

            Another missed slash, and Paige realized he was aiming for the _knife_ , not her.  She held it close to herself; why he wanted to disarm her so badly, she didn’t know, but she didn’t particularly want to find out. 

            Concentrating on dodging blows and not getting cornered was difficult enough; fighting back seemed impossible.  She kept bumping into counters or chairs, circling backwards around the kitchen.  Tony was getting frustrated, trying to close as much distance as he could between them without risking another cut from her. 

            Paige’s vision was doubling, and she was mostly guessing at his actual position. 

            Paige saw the sword coming in from the left, and even registered that she should move right.  But somehow her legs jerked her body to the left, and there was a crunching sound as her ribs gave way.

            Both of them gasped almost simultaneously, Tony letting go of the sword and Paige collapsing to the floor, legs folding under her.  The blade had pierced most of the way into her chest, stopping just short of cracking through the back of her ribcage. 

            She blinked, staring down at the red stain blooming across her dress and the black metal jutting out of the lower left side of her chest.  Her breath hitched as the pain began to grow.  The sword was ripped out of her roughly; she gave a choked cry and fell backwards, smacking against the wall. 

           “Do you have any idea how long I was _waiting_?”  He snarled “Do you think it was easy to put up with your provocations without batting an eye?” He paced around in front of her while he spoke, gesturing angrily.  “How much time I _wasted_ setting this up?  The work I neglected while keeping you awake?  For you to just _ruin_ it?” 

            Paige coughed, blood gushing with each jerk and a metallic froth building in the back of her throat.  He kept ranting; she rolled her eyes and tuned him out.  He just _won_ , and he was _still_ throwing a tantrum about it.  

            She didn’t even bother to try to apply pressure to the wound; death was coming no matter what, and they both knew it.  Blood loss was working well with her exhaustion, and the pain started to dull.  She wouldn’t die for a few minutes yet, and she was betting on flooded lungs, but already she wanted to lie back and close her eyes.  She did.

            Tony sighed harshly, and his shoulders slumped.  He kneeled down to her, leaning his head down to look at her under her disheveled hair.  She opened her eyes, regarding him wearily in silence.  The anger had faded from his expression.

            “Don’t even have the courtesy to die quickly…”  He muttered. 

            His hands were on her jawline, wrapping around the back of her head; the blood still dripping from his cut palm seemed hot enough to burn her shock-chilled skin.  Paige couldn’t find the energy to pull away as he lifted her head, examining her face carefully.  His thumbs caressed her cheeks for a moment.   

            He twisted.

           

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> TONY WAS DOING THAT THING WHERE YOU TRAIN YOURSELF TO SLEEP EVERY 4 HOURS FOR 20 MINUTES AT A TIME AND GET ALL UR NECESSAR Y SLEEP DONE IN THOSE SPANS  
> I READ ABOUT IT LIKE FOUR YEARS AGO AND I HAVE NO IDEA IF ITS POSSIBLE I PROBABLY SHOULDVE DONE A CURSORY SERACH FOR IT BUT ITS TOO LATE FOR THAT HUH


End file.
